TARDIS  Time and relative dimension in space
by Polly Lynn
Summary: Castle did the right thing during Kill Shot. Now he's losing it and needs a Time Out.


Time and Relative Dimensions in Space

A/N: A post–"Kill Shot" vignette. I'm still working on "Six Impossible Things," but this just popped into my head. It has nothing to do with Dr. Who, more's the pity.

A little background: I teach forensic anthropology, and one of my students, who suddenly and tragically lost a parent about a year before taking the class, came to tell me that learning about what happens to the body after death had become a valuable coping mechanism that helped to make sense of the the loss. Beckett's obviously borrowing from that conversation here.

Rating: T (angst, heavy/adult [non-sexual] themes, language)

* * *

><p><em>One more circuit<em>, Castle thought. The November evening was beyond dark, and the cemetery, he supposed, had closed hours ago. Not that anyone would bother him. Ernie, the night security guard, had a bartender's instinct for when to offer Castle a slug of coffee from his thermos (_or a nip from his flask_) and when to give him nothing more than wide berth and a nod.

Castle stopped dead as he reached his destination, the no man's land halfway between the overgrown headstone of Milton Reed, 1921–1948, and Laurel Stiles, Beloved Wife, Devoted Mother.

Nothing marked the spot any more. The evidence flags and police tape were long since gone. By the end of the summer, even the grass had recovered from the feet, machinery, equipment that had scoured the spot and come up with nothing more than the certainty that someone had stopped here and waited for just the right moment to murder Kate Beckett.

Even now, months later, Castle usually felt just a spark of certainty (_hope_) that he would find something here: Some overlooked scrap of evidence, a guilt-ridden witness who'd been afraid to come forward, a hare-brained theory that might pull him—pull _her—up, out, over, past . . . everything. Forward._

Tonight, though, the spark kept its distance. He stared fixedly at the ground, face tight, hands clenched. Tonight, he was . . . what? _Furious? (yes) Miserable? (definitely) Hopeless. (maybe)_

Beckett was fine. Well, not fine. But fin_er_. He'd done the right thing, asking Esposito to help her. _L__etting _Esposito help her. Stepping back. Smoothing things over, hanging back in the bullpen.

He'd done the right thing. She'd thanked him.

He deserved a little time right now to fall apart. To let the bottom drop out of his stomach at the memory of the lingering smell of alcohol on her skin. (_Skin she'd scrubbed to angry red. It had to have been painful._) To choke past the panic at the blood-soaked bandage on her wrist. (_One wrist, not both. An accident. Just an accident._)

Something broke the spell. He started, suddenly wondering how long he'd been standing there, staring the spot of cold ground. He winced as he uncurled one fist, then the other. Long enough for the ragged ends of his fingernails to draw blood. _Enough_, he thought, _Time to go. _

Castle put his back to the city and turned up the collar of his coat, hunching against the wind. However long he'd been standing there, it had gotten cold. _Or maybe it's just me_.

He picked his way through the neat rows of headstones. He had one more stop to make, but he wasn't in a hurry.

In the distance, a sudden light appeared, teasing pale, eerie fire from the marble. _Ernie_. Castle thought about ducking into the shadows. The light was closing in fast on Castle's destination. _Not Ernie_, his heart was suddenly in his throat. Ernie's pace was always leisurely, and he almost never used a light.

Castle picked up his own pace, cut left, and angled between the headstones to circle behind to intercept . . . Ernie after all. Castle opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on, but the guard held up one hand, gesturing with the other toward Roy Montgomery's headstone.

* * *

><p>She looked small, sitting there cross-legged on the ground. Ernie shrugged at Castle and gestured again. <em>It's ok<em>, Castle mouthed and waved him off. Ernie gave him a long look, then nodded and switched off his light, fading back into the shadows.

Castle took three steps toward her and stopped. _Space_. _Right. _He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to follow Ernie's steps back to the West gate.

"It's ok, Castle," she called out suddenly, attention still fixed on the headstone in front of her, "You can stay. If you want."

He stopped and faced her, but didn't move any closer, "I don't want to bother you."

She turned, an unexpected - well, it wasn't a grin, exactly, but something grin-like - piercing the shadows, "I'm sitting in the dark. On a grave. Where I got shot. You're not bothering me."

He started toward her, slowly, "That's a first, then."

Beckett didn't quite laugh, but the grin-like thing stayed.

_Dangerous, _Castle thought and looked away to minimize his chances of doing something stupid.

The headstone was neat as always. The bouquet of black beauties had wilted slightly. Evelyn had probably been by on Tuesday. As far away as possible from the bouquet, almost hiding around the side of the headstone, was a tiny stone pot. Inside, the surface was covered with a short, coarse stubble of determined-looking grey-green stalks. Castle crouched for a closer look.

"Lavender," she said, "I hate the half-dead flowers, and I didn't . . ."

"It'll be beautiful in the spring," Castle filled the silence.

Beckett nodded. Her gaze dropped to her lap. She blinked as though she were surprised to find a small rectangle resting on her crossed ankles. She slipped her palm under it and the grin-like thing resurfaced briefly.

"Yours?" she asked holding it out to him.

Castle hesitated, then gently plucked it from her fingers. His own sneering face stared back at him, bookended by Ryan and Esposito and their matching sneers and black pompadours, "No. Must be Ryan. He really wanted the Captain to be there."

He held the snapshot out to her, but she shook her head and nodded towed the gravestone. He slipped it into a groove in the headstone's base, propping it up out of the damp.

"I don't . . ." Castle hesitated, "Lavender is nice. I don't bring anything. I always . . . stop by before I leave, but I don't bring anything."

"But you come," Beckett shifted, drawing her knees into her chest, knotting here fingers around her calves, "Ryan comes. Evelyn . . ."

"And you come into the precinct. Every day," Castle settled into a sitting position, "Even days like today."

They sat together in silence for a while. Castle had just made up his mind to go, all in the name of _space _and _doing the right thing, _when she spoke, "He's not here."

"No, he's not," Castle tried to keep his eyes safely on the headstone.

"Six months. No embalming," Beckett unclasped hands and placed one palm on the ground, "It's just a box in a hole in the ground."

"A really gross box," It slipped out. He wanted to kick himself.

But she laughed, or something like it, "Temperature, water, and time. Skin pigment fades. Everything collapses . . . " she broke off, spine stiffening, "I'm sorry, you probably think . . ."

"It doesn't bother me," Castle tipped his head to look at her, "You should see my notes from my crash courses with Dr. Death."

Beckett nodded, "It helped me . . . after my mom. I sat in on pathology classes, forensics. It helped me to know."

"Is that how you got to know Lanie?" Castle asked after a moment. "Wanting to know?"

"Later on," she said, "I was still in uniform. She'd take me by the arm and walk me in from perimeter duty, right past the detectives. 'This is postmortem. No color in the surrounding tissue'," her imitation was better than passable.

Castle smiled against his knees. He liked these glimpses into how she'd gone from being Katie to being Beckett, "She's a good teacher."

Silence fell again. Castle's hands combed through the dead grass. He wanted to change the subject, make her laugh again. He wanted to _help_. Which seemed to mean keeping quiet at the moment. He _sucked_ at that.

Beckett turned her head to look at him, resting her cheek against her knee, "I don't think it's weird that you don't bring anything."

"I don't think it's weird that you don't come here," Castle met her eyes, "Usually."

A corner of her mouth quirked up. She could _hear_ him not asking why she'd come here tonight, "It's . . . kind of an assignment."

"Ah," he looked away to keep a half dozen questions from tumbling out.

"Not to see the Captain," she watched Castle carefully, "I needed to come _here_."

"Oh," Castle swallowed hard. Memories surfaced of her blood, black against the grass in the bright sunlight. He shuddered, "I don't come to see him. I . . . it seems rude not to stop by and say . . . something, but I . . . I don't spend a lot of time. Right here."

"You don't have to stay," she said quickly.

Hurt flashed across his face for just a moment and then he was unfolding himself, "Yeah, sorry, I'll give you some space."

"Castle, that's not," without thinking she planted her right hand on the ground and braced to push herself up. The gash on her wrist screamed in protest, "God _damn_ it."

He was on his knees at her side in a second, "Kate! Let me see it!"

"Castle!" She hissed and snatched her hand back as his fingers fumbled at the medical tape. "It's _fine_."

"It is _not fine_," He held up his slick, dark fingers, "You're bleeding. You probably need stitches."

"I just need to re-wrap it," Beckett turned away from him, awkwardly rolling to her knees. Blood seeped past the cuff of her jacket. Her jeans were smeared with dark patches. The dead grass swam before her eyes.

"Kate, you're shaking," Castle hovered over her shoulder, not quite daring to touch her again.

"I just need a minute," She bit through her teeth, glaring at him from behind the tendrils of hair the wind had teased free of her ponytail, "And some air."

He pulled away as if she'd burned him, sitting back on his heels. He looked away and his hands were half way through an apologetic gesture when he suddenly changed his mind, "Time out!" he barked, bringing one palm down on his fingertips.

Surprised, Beckett sat back, mirroring his pose, "Time out?"

"Time. Out." His hands dropped to his thighs. He looked away, and the words came pouring out, "I have been doing the right thing. Because I want you to be ok. And I know that I can't _make _you ok. So I've been giving you _space_ and I've been giving you _time_ and right now, I want a _time out so I can do some basic fucking first aid and not watch you bleed to death_," The outburst was over almost as soon as it started. He looked up to see her staring, eyes wide, mouth working silently. And, once again, the urge to kick himself loomed, but he couldn't quite keep from adding, "Again."

She didn't say a word, but she also didn't look away. He held out one hand, "Just let . . . just let me patch that up, Beckett."

Beckett was silent a minute longer, and when she did speak, he could barely hear her, "Ok. Time out," she reached out with her good hand, then pulled it back. She folded her fingers hard against her thigh to stop the shaking.

Castle eased to a crouch at her side, sliding a hand under her elbow, "It's ok. I've got you."

She nodded and leaned on him, making her way slowly, slowly to her feet, "There's a kit in my car."

"Lead the way," with one hand still on her elbow, he slipped an arm around her waist.

Beckett stopped, her head swiveling toward him. He leaned in to whisper in her ear, "It's a time out, detective. Let's go."

* * *

><p>Beckett slid into the driver's seat and slipped the key into the ignition. She cranked the heat and hunched into herself as Castle fished under the passenger seat for the first aid kit, "I don't think there's any gauze wrap left, but there should be big enough . . ."<p>

"I check and restock twice a month," Castle gave her a pitying look as he held up a roll.

"Um . . ." Beckett blinked.

"You're not to be trusted with your own health, Beckett," he winced as he peeled the blood-soaked bandage away to reveal a jagged gash, "Obviously."

"It's not as bad as it looks," she said, sucking in a breath as he tugged to pull a bit of stubborn tape free.

"Sorry, sorry," he whispered, brushing his fingers over her palm in apology. "I think there's glass in here, Kate. I think we should . . ."

"I am _not_ going to the emergency room," she clenched her teeth, "There's tweezers."

Castle opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again as he met her eyes, "This is going to hurt," he said grimly pulling the tweezers from the kit, "And I'll need some light."

Beckett fumbled for the dome light. Castle flipped the arm rest up and scooted closer, propping her arm against his knee, "How did it happen?"

She looked up at him, but his eyes were on his work, "I broke something," she grunted slightly as the tweezers tugged unpleasantly at the flap of skin, "A bottle."

"You know, it's interesting," he pulled a small shard free and dropped it in the lid of the first aid kit, then rubbed his thumb across her palm, "Ready?"

"Yeah," she took a deep breath and let it out, "What's interesting?"

"Alcohol," Castle dipped his head closer to the wound, frowning in concentration, "Can actually trigger panic attacks."

"Yeah, I know," she blushed, "Castle, I . . ."

"See, I _didn't _know that," Another shard hit the lid with a faint _tink_, "Until this summer. It seems like it would help, but no."

He met her eyes. She didn't look away, "It does. Seem like it should . . . help, I mean."

"I scared the hell out of Alexis," The fingers of his free hand slid up to her shoulder, "She thought I was having a heart attack. I wouldn't let her take me to the hospital. Wouldn't let her call anyone. I was just . . . frozen."

"It's like someone's sitting on my chest," she said quietly, "Was . . . Alexis furious?"

"No, not furious," he smiled wanly, "Well a little furious. Sometimes. But mostly terrified. That was worse." His hand dropped from her shoulder and went back to work with the tweezers.

"Much worse," her eyes followed the quick, neat motions of his fingers, "I can do furious."

"Don't have to tell me," he muttered, "I think that's all of it. Hand me a couple of those alcohol pads."

Beckett pulled her hand away, "They sting!"

"Beckett, are you _pouting_?"

"I do not _pout,_ Castle," she thrust her hand back toward him.

"Well, not usually," he grinned down at her hand in his and tore open the package, "But it's time out. So if you _wanted_ to pout, or cry, or . . . And this is just an example . . . throw yourself into my arms seeking comfort, now would be the time. Out."

Her cheeks flushed and the breath she huffed out had distinctly giggle-like qualities, "I think I'm good, Castle."

"Suit yourself," he was still smiling as he pressed a gauze pad to the cut and secured it loosely with a length from the roll. He taped the ends and held her wrist up to the light to assess his work. "Better?"

Beckett flexed her wrist gingerly, "Better. Thank you."

"Any time," he said softly. "So. Time out over, I'll just let . . ."

"Time out!" It came out louder than she intended. Her cheeks flushed again as she leaned in and kissed him on the lips, hard, quick, and awkward.

"Buh . . ." Castle blinked rapidly.

Laughter bubbled up in her, light and easy like it hadn't for so, _so _long. _There's nothing_, nothing _like leaving him speechless. _She leaned in again. This time, he was there to meet her. His hand slid inside her collar, warm and searching. She found herself holding tight (_clinging, really_) to his shoulder. It wasn't awkward this time. In fact, it was quite problematically not awkward at all.

Beckett made a soft noise that might have been alarm. Castle broke the kiss abruptly, his hands still trailing down her neck, tracing the outline of her ear, "Are you . . . Okay?" His voice actually cracked.

She smiled and leaned in for one more quick kiss. This time in the slightly (_only slightly_) safer region of his cheek, "No, I'm not okay. But I'm working on it."

He nodded, but didn't let her go.

"So. Time out . . . "

"Wait," Castle dipped his head to look her in the eye, "Kate, I'll do the right thing. I'll give you space," he grimaced a little, but his face softened again as he went on, "And I'll wait. But don't ask me to watch you hurt yourself. I can't do it. "

She twisted a little to break eye contact, but he held her fast. She started to say something, then stopped. She drew in a deep breath and met his eyes again, "Ok. I'll do my best."

"Good," he said simply, his hands dropping away, "Good."

"Good," she repeated, "So how about I bring that IOU down to 99 coffees."

Castle stayed close a moment and brushed his fingers over her bandage before sliding back into the passenger seat and fastening his seat belt, "Only if you're sure about the throwing yourself into my arms for comfort thing."

Beckett rolled her eyes, "Coffee. For now."


End file.
